


wandering inside this night

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: Jyn and Cassian’s survival is very good for the Rebellion and very bad for Han Solo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I went to a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert over Christmas, and somehow it gave me the dazzling realization that Jyn/Cassian making it to ESB = Jyn/Cassian around during the great Han/Leia meltdown of 1980. Given the Jyn-Han and Cassian-Leia parallels and my headcanons around them, I am profoundly delighted by this.

Han resigned himself to the inevitable.

The Rebellion, that was Luke’s and Leia’s deal. He’d done his part. He stuck around for them, as long as he could, and then some. But he was no dreamer, certainly no revolutionary. He looked after his own and looked after himself. And the odds of doing either if he kept playing around with Rebels had sunk very, very low.

If he’d gotten literally anything out of it, that might be different. _Might_ be. But there was what, surviving ice and snow with Luke? He counted Luke as a good friend, his closest friend, but leaving wouldn’t change that. Luke had come to his own terms with what Han was. And Leia, well. She’d made herself damn clear.

Still, he had some hope of _something_ , when he went to report his resignation. He made sure to do it at a time when she would be there, and could interfere if she wanted. He didn’t expect her to beg him not to leave her, just—he didn’t know what he expected.

As he strode into the control room, Han kept Leia in his line of vision. She didn’t even look at him, just kept fiddling with some controls as she talked with Cassian Andor.

That didn’t help. Andor was … well, Han had a pleasant conversation with him once.

Exactly once.

As far as he recalled, they’d talked cordially for maybe fifteen minutes about the man’s latest blaster. Andor, whose character combined burning zealotry and icy pragmatism in equal and unattractive measure, did not possess many qualities Han admired—but he did have excellent taste in weaponry. Not that it was the real reason for the conversation. Leia had worked with Andor back during her spying-in-the-Senate days, and after Alderaan, they maintained what they termed a good working relationship and normal people called friendship. Vaguely, Han thought placating Andor might help with the princess. Idiocy—not that he’d succeeded at either.

As far as Andor’s brief foray into courtesy went, that had to be his wife’s doing. Han considered her a good woman, a good friend, and usually a good drinking buddy—much too good for Andor, in fact. Luke’s conspiracy theories aside, Han could scarcely believe his ears when he discovered they’d been quietly married for almost a year. With the Death Star and all, well, things happened under stress. But marriage? Jyn Erso and the galaxy’s prissiest assassin? Apparently so. Somehow they managed to stand each other, and now and then, Andor unbent a little for her sake.

A very little. And not at all, right now.

“We do need more information out of engineering,” he was saying to Leia, “but training isn’t enough at that level. Anyone who comes near will be checked double, triple.”

“Then we’ll have to get a real one,” said Leia, decidedly. “Can we recruit? Out of the Academy, maybe?”

She didn’t ask _Han_ questions. Not when she wanted a real answer. Han glanced towards them, though of course he had nothing to see except Leia’s back and Andor’s angular face. Did Leia find it attractive? She might. She and Jyn had plenty in common—maybe similar tastes in men, too. For one beautiful moment, he fantasized about smashing that face out of shape. Unfortunately, he felt sure that people who attacked Cassian Andor didn’t enjoy the life expectancy Han was looking for.

“That will be too young,” Andor was replying, just as Leia said,

“No, definitely too young.”

Said the twenty-something ancients.

Han wasn’t guessing at their ages; if he had, he would have thought them both older. But Leia was actually the exact same age as Luke, twenty-two on Empire Day. He knew because he looked it up the day they met. Andor, meanwhile, turned out to be several years younger than Han. He owed that unwelcome knowledge to a drunken night of complaining with Jyn Erso, which had included a rant about Andor’s forthcoming birthday (twenty-nine).

Even drinking with Jyn made it all worse, in a roundabout way. Andor didn’t seem to return his jealousy in the slightest. And he had better reason for it. Not that Jyn—but it wasn’t like Andor and Leia did anything together except plot the overthrow of the Empire. Jyn, though she didn’t flirt, certainly did go carousing with the men now and then. Yet Andor regarded this with the same cool indifference that he regarded everything. It might be a front, but Jyn said he really didn’t care. She actually laughed. _Cassian’s a walking database of Alliance secrets. He doesn’t want me to live my life on guard just because he has to._

Han walked up to General Rieekan, trying to glower in Andor’s direction without actually looking at him. It didn’t really work.

“Solo?”

“No sign of life out there, General,” Han said. “The sensors are in place. You’ll know if anything comes around.”

“Commander Skywalker reported in yet?” asked Rieekan.

“No. He’s checking out a meteorite that hit near him.”

Rieekan studied the screen in front of them. “With all the meteor activity in this system, it’s going to be difficult to spot approaching ships.”

The officers with him murmured agreement, thankfully drowning out the peripheral conversations in the war room. But a quick look showed Han that Leia still paid no attention, instead saying something that had Andor nodding his head.

Han took a deep breath. “General, I’ve got to leave. I can’t stay anymore.”

Did Leia’s back stiffen? It might have. He couldn’t read body language quite as easily under five layers of quilted snowsuit. Andor looked his way, though, which Han counted as a minor victory.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rieekan was saying.

“Well, there’s a price on my head,” said Han. “If I don’t pay off Jabba the Hutt, I’m a dead man.”

“A death mark’s not an easy thing to live with,” Rieekan said.

Han suppressed the feeling that he’d just acquired a new one. He could feel Andor’s gaze and Leia’s studied indifference from across the room. When he chanced another look, Leia had _definitely_ stiffened, but not even turned around yet. Andor, usually expressionless beyond an occasional fine-grained amusement, stared at him with open disgust.

“You’re a good fighter, Solo,” Rieekan said. “I hate to lose you.”

Han felt a nasty sort of clench in his chest. It would’ve been easier if they’d cut up over it, forced him to defend ditching all this, but the officers just gave him sympathetic looks and nods. Except one, of course.

“Thank you, General,” said Han.

Andor turned back to Leia and raised his voice. “We believe that we have the only full technological readout, but the decentralization of the project is a danger. The technology and design of many of the components must be intact, and Galen believed himself to be useful but nonessential.”

Leia set her shoulders. “I’m afraid so. We need people there.”

Enough of this shit. As Rieekan moved away, Han clenched his jaw and walked right up to them.

At last, Leia turned towards him. She could make him stay. With a word, if she wanted. But she regarded him with scarcely less contempt than Andor, her face pale and mouth tight.

Han hadn’t planned his departure, exactly. But if there were a plan, this wasn’t it. Andor, at least, had withdrawn a few feet and now gave every impression of being deep in conversation with his creepy black droid. It didn’t change anything, at this point.

“Well, your Highness,” Han said roughly, “I guess this is it.”

Leia lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, and nothing clever or charming or convincing came to mind. She’d never admit that she was a real woman, that she—

“Well, don’t get all mushy on me,” he snarled, and it sounded adolescent even to his own ears. “So long, Princess.”

As he stormed away, he heard Leia shout after him. He ignored her. See how she liked it.

The droid said, “Another ignorant fool. Wonderful.”


End file.
